


The Sneeze

by wheel_pen



Series: Darkwood Eastport [2]
Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fish out of Water, Magic, Polygamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Orange Light clan has just moved into their new home in Eastport and are trying to get settled. Then, Eli sneezes and seems ill, prompting Cal to take him to the half-finished clinic in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sneeze

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe. I’ve given a lot of thought to the Darkwood culture, so if something seems confusing, feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy!

_First week_

The dining room was chaotic—it was only their first week in the house in Eastport and they didn’t have the routine down yet. The children were slightly frenzied from their unusual living conditions—none of their rooms were finished yet, so they were camping out in sleeping bags in the empty rooms and probably staying up far too late giggling. Cal _said_ he was going to be strict about them keeping up with their lessons; but the classrooms weren’t finished yet, there were strangers in the house working all day, and there was a whole forest to explore outside. Besides, Cal had found so many details he needed to take care of all day that he just hadn’t gotten around to checking on his students’ progress.

Breakfast was served buffet-style, with warming pans of eggs and toast at one end of the side table and ice-filled bins with carafes of milk and juice at the other. In between were children, so many children, though not as many as in some other clans certainly, running back and forth, changing their minds, stopping in the middle, shouting at each other, spilling things, helping each other, insisting they could do it themselves. Gillian and Ria were already in the thick of it, of course, advising, directing, assisting admirably—but they were still glad to see Eli appear in the doorway. More adult supervision was always useful.

Except Eli didn’t bound over to the side table full of infectious enthusiasm, scooping up a child or two and instantly doubling the energy of the room. Instead, he shuffled over to the unoccupied end of one table, plopped down, and promptly dropped his head onto his arms, as if just coming down the stairs had been exhausting. Gillian and Ria exchanged a look, but it was another minute before one of them was free and able to attend him.

“Eli? Are you okay?” Ria put a hand on his arm and rubbed his back, the way she would with one of the children. There was a demand for her attention from the side but she ignored it. They weren’t going to starve, and the servants would make sure they didn’t create too big of a mess. Eli rolled his head over to his other arm and gazed up at her dolefully. His eyes were red and watery and he looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep all night. “What’s wrong?” Ria pressed, moving one hand up through his dark curls. As far as she knew he’d spent the night alone, due to her current _indisposition_ and Gillian’s tendency to sleep with Cal by default; but maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea, in their new and unfamiliar situation. She leaned down close to his ear. “Did you have bad dreams?”

She thought she saw him smile faintly and indicate no; but Cal chose that moment to take over. “Not in front of the children!” he chastised rudely, deliberately misinterpreting their body language. He shooed Ria away and sat down in the chair next to Eli, studying him intently for a long moment. “You look like you’ve been on a bender,” he finally observed.

“I feel like it,” Eli agreed, his voice rough. “Except I also keep”—sniffle—“sniffling. But, G-d, my head is _pounding_ , and my eyes are all itchy, and I just kind of feel like I’ve been hit by a tank or something.” Having made this declaration he rolled his face back down, away from the light, and rested.

Cal observed him again clinically for a moment. Then he reached out and pressed a hand against the other man’s forehead, then his cheek. They felt slightly warm to Cal, but then again they didn’t have a lot of experience with illnesses. “If you’re sick you should’ve stayed upstairs and not come around the children,” he reminded Eli bluntly.

The other man groaned slightly. “G-d, you’re right, sorry,” he agreed. He rubbed his forehead, frustrated. “I just can’t think today…”

“Go away,” Cal told the child who was approaching their end of the increasingly crowded table. The child obeyed, knowing not to mess with _that_ tone. As leader of the clan, Cal was responsible for the health and safety of all its members, some twenty-odd people, and he took that duty seriously, even if he didn’t always _act_ like he did. A servant wandered into Cal’s eyeline at his summons. “Diagnosis,” he ordered, nodding towards Eli.

“Physical, non-fatal,” the bland, uniformed man reported almost immediately.

“Infectious?”

“Non-infectious,” the servant corrected, and Cal’s mood lightened considerably. “Would you like a more detailed diagnosis?”

“No,” Cal replied shortly, knowing how much it would cost. “Call the Darkwood Clinic and see if they’re taking patients yet. I’ll bring him in later this morning.”

“Yes, milord.” The servant bowed and stepped back, out of sight.

Cal thumped Eli on the back convivially. “Cheer up! You’re not contagious, and you’re not going to die!”

“And I’m not just _sad_ ,” Eli added sarcastically, snuffling again. “Nice to know.”

“Here.” Cal handed him a dishtowel one of the servants had passed him, so Eli could wipe his nose. “Did you eat something weird last night?”

“Just what everybody ate,” the younger man shrugged. He tried to push himself into a sitting position and sip the hot tea that had been set before him, no doubted ordered by one of his wives who watched the two men with concern from the other end of the tables. A glance around the room showed no one with similar lethargy to Eli’s, so Cal ruled out the pizza as the culprit. Maybe if he just stared at Eli long enough the problem would leap out and confess—or so his plan seemed to Eli.

“Yum, bacon,” said a voice near them and both men glanced up to see one of the children helping himself to a plateful of crispy brown strips. Unfortunately, it was the _wrong_ child.

“Mark!” Cal and Eli admonished at the same time, Cal’s more forceful. “You can’t eat that bacon,” Eli added tiredly.

“Yeah, it’s pork,” Cal agreed. “Come on, bring it over here. Get a clean plate.”

Mark did as he was told, but with confusion. “But I eat bacon at home all the time.”

“In the Valley it was made of turkey,” Eli sighed, putting his head back down. “This is made from pigs.”

“I _explained_ this yesterday,” Cal reminded the eight-year-old, purloining his plateful of bacon. “And— _this_ is home now, okay?” he added in a gentler tone. It was an important point, actually, toward keeping up the energy of the house. Mark nodded solemnly. “Good lad. Go get some toast. Find the kosher kind.”

“Get some _fruit_ , too!” Gillian added from her end of the table.

Meanwhile, Cal was left with a plateful of bacon to munch on. “Are you hungry?” he asked Eli curiously, through a mouthful.

“No.”

“Do you feel sick to your stomach?”

“Not unless you keep waving that _bacon_ in front of me,” Eli answered pointedly. Cal moved the plate away an inch.

The table was getting quite crowded now, though the end containing Cal and Eli had been the last to fill up. A small plate of fruit was deposited abruptly in front of Cal. “Mom said I should get this for you,” Alice reported, rolling her eyes at the mundane task, and Cal smirked a little bit. He didn’t need to make eye contact with Gillian to know she was hoping he wouldn’t eat the _entire_ plate of bacon for his breakfast.

“’Ere, sit down,” he instructed Alice, indicating the empty chair beside him. “Have some bacon. Give some to your brother over there.”

“Are you okay, Ladru?” she asked with concern, settling down in the chair.

“Not really,” he replied miserably, then sneezed. Fortunately the dishtowel caught it, but the sound was unusual enough to draw everyone’s attention momentarily. Eli sighed and dropped his head back down to the table.

Suddenly he felt a tugging on his elbow and looked down at a little boy standing beside him, holding a carefully-balanced plate containing three strawberries and half a piece of toast. “Ladru! Sit with me!”

Eli smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t think I should—“

“Oy!” Cal remarked, drawing the boy’s attention. “Leave ‘im alone, he’s sick. Come here and sit with me, Alex.”

Well, Ladru was more fun to sit with because he did funny things with the food, but _sick_ seemed like a bad thing. And besides, Daddy didn’t like it when people didn’t listen to him. So Alex dutifully walked around and climbed up on Cal’s lap—he was a little old for such behavior, but the five-year-olds often had trouble letting go of it and Cal didn’t want to push him so soon after the big move to a new place.

“Here, eat your breakfast,” Cal suggested, arraying several plates in front of the boy. He picked up another piece of bacon to gnaw on himself and gestured at Eli with it. “Have you been takin’ those vitamins they gave us?” he questioned suspiciously.

“Yes,” Eli insisted. There were several health precautions all the Darkwood clans had to adjust to as they settled permanently in America, including the use of dietary supplements in case the food they chose didn’t contain all the nutrients they needed.

He sneezed again and Cal frowned, running out of ideas. “Do you feel any better after drinking the tea?” he asked. “Maybe it’s caffeine withdrawal.”

“G-d, I don’t know,” Eli sighed. “I don’t _think_ I feel better. Does caffeine withdrawal cause sneezing?”

Cal thought it seemed unlikely. “Get a—“ he started to instruct a servant, then paused to look at Eli. “Do you think something warm or cold on your head would feel better?”

“Warm. No, cold. I don’t know.”

“Hot towel _and_ a cold one,” Cal decided, and the servant hurried off to consult the database of household remedies they had acquired from the LA clans.

“Are you feeding him _bacon_?!” Ria suddenly exclaimed from the other end of the table, and Cal looked down to see Alex happily chewing on a piece.

Cal let loose a choice word that the children giggled at and dared each other to repeat, then snatched the bacon from Alex’s mouth. “Hey, that’s meat, you’re not supposed to eat _meat_!”

“But it tastes good!” the boy protested.

“Yeah, well, talk to your mother about that,” Cal advised. “Eat your toast.” He examined the damp piece of meat for a moment, then shrugged and ate it himself.

“That was so disgusting,” Eli commented weakly.

“Mom!” Alice called in indignation. “Did you see what Dad just did?!”

“It’s just a little predigested,” Cal told them. “Less work for _me_ , really. You know, if I were an elder in the Kintaku tribe of central Africa, you would be quite honored to chew my food for me first.”

“Well, we should’ve moved to central Africa,” Alice replied sarcastically.

“Don’t be cheeky,” her father told her. “Here, hold Alex for me.”

“It’s _Alejo_ ,” Ria insisted from a distance.

Cal ignored her to focus on Eli, who was trying out his hot and cold towels. “Are you dizzy? Maybe you’re dehydrated. Drink some juice.” He pushed a glass of orange juice in front of the other man.

“I don’t know. My head feels like it’s trapped in a vise,” Eli described, sipping the juice. “I don’t know about _dizzy_ , though…”

“Are you having any hallucinations or altered perception of reality?”

“I think so,” Eli replied, “unless you really _did_ eat a piece of bacon that Alex spit out.”

Cal rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to do an assessment here, _if_ you don’t mind. Is the clinic seeing patients?” he asked another servant.

“Yes, milord,” the man confirmed. “Lord White Stag says he’ll be there to receive you anytime.”

“Do you feel like getting dressed?” Cal asked the younger man, who was still in his pajamas.

“Well, since it’s non-fatal, I guess I can manage,” Eli decided dryly.

“I notice you haven’t started yet,” Cal observed a moment later.

“I’m working up to it.”

Cal caught the eye of another servant. “Slide him upstairs and help him get dressed.”

Eli started to protest. “I don’t really need to be—“ But when Cal turned back, he was gone.

“You said we weren’t supposed to slide around the house,” Alice pointed out.

“Only in emergencies,” Cal countered. “Or other special circumstances.”

“As determined by _you_?”

“Naturally,” he agreed, standing. He looked around the table for a minute, then walked over to Luke and tapped the teenager on the shoulder. “C’mere, I wanna talk to you for a minute,” Cal told him mysteriously and with unusual discretion. Intrigued, Luke put down his forkful of eggs and rose from the table.

Gillian stopped Cal as he walked by her. “You’re taking Eli into the clinic?”

“Yeah, as soon as he’s ready,” he confirmed.

“Okay. Call me when you’re done.” The other adults in the family would be waiting anxiously to hear what was wrong.

“Right,” Cal assured her. “I’ve got other errands to do, too, so even if I have to bring him back here, I’ll be going right out again.” Despite the experience afforded by the first wave of clans in LA, not to mention their own considerable intelligence and organizational powers, it seemed that there were innumerable details that needed to be taken care of when one moved a large family to America. And Cal, of course, was responsible for making sure they were all done properly—though as Gillian had pointed out several times to no avail, this didn’t mean he couldn’t _delegate_ the tasks to the other adults in the family. She figured he would cave eventually, because Cal loathed doing paperwork; but every time they moved out of the Valley he liked to start off by taking care of the details himself. Then after a couple of months they became routine and thus dull, so Gillian usually took over. Here, at least, the clans had the option of using a single estate manager to literally write the checks each month—Cal hadn’t decided if they were going to take advantage of that or not, which really meant that _Gillian_ hadn’t decided.

Cal left the dining room for the hall and then the front foyer, Luke still at his heels. When they were far enough away that Cal though his wives wouldn’t overhear—he predicted they would have been insulted, to an unhelpful extent—he turned and gave the teenager a serious gaze. “I’m takin’ your ladru into the clinic,” he began. “I dunno how long we’ll be gone. _But_ —we probably won’t be back before the workmen get here.” Luke saw where this was going already and nodded.

“I don’t expect you to do anything _drastic_ ,” Cal clarified, “but just keep an eye on things. Keep track of people, keep them together, hover obnoxiously if your madru starts talking to them, alright?” Ria had been so excited to discover that someone else in the lily-white area was a native speaker of Spanish that she had, in Cal’s highly biased opinion, gone overboard in being friendly and welcoming to the men who were working on their house. Of course the servants were around to prevent anything really bad from happening, accidentally or otherwise; but Cal preferred to have an _actual_ person looking over things as well, and Luke was easily as responsible (maybe more so) as his older brother, who had stayed behind in the Valley along with Cal and Gillian’s oldest daughter.

Gillian and Ria would have been quite indignant if they knew what he was saying to Luke, and Alice superficially miffed to be passed over, but, well—some things Cal just felt more comfortable having a man in charge of. Almost man, anyway. In Darkwood Valley men tended to speak only with other men, and women only with other women, except for relatives or in the course of their professions. It frankly made Cal uncomfortable to leave his wives and children alone in the house with a crew of strange men around, considering they didn’t have workmen at _all_ in the Valley, and despite the thorough discussion he’d had with their foreman. Maybe Luke wouldn’t really have much to do at all while Cal and Eli were both gone, but at least Cal would know someone at home was _thinking_ about these things.

“Sure, Dad, I understand,” Luke promised.

Cal clapped him on the shoulder. “Good lad. Go back to breakfast. Don’t tell your mother what I said.”

“Don’t tell Mom _what_?” Alice asked suspiciously, entering the foyer.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Cal could tell from her expression she wasn’t. “Good. What do you want?”

Alice rolled her eyes at the drudgery forced upon her and thrust a blueberry muffin and a banana at her father. “Mom said you should eat these, since you didn’t have much breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Cal replied, with a distinct lack of gratitude, taking the food items and dropping them into the pocket of his blazer. He was sure that at some point during the day he would find a more appropriate moment to eat them, like, say, while talking to the bank manager or waiting in line at the post office. One had to multi-task these days, after all.

A sneeze echoed through the high-ceilinged room and they turned to see Eli pause at the top of the stairs to blow his nose. “Where did you find _that_?” Cal asked, staring at the pink and flowery cardboard box the other man was clutching.

“I guess Ria had some,” Eli sighed, beaten down by his mysterious illness. “Since my nose keeps running and my eyes are watering, I thought they seemed appropriate.”

“Maybe you’re pregnant,” Cal suggested dryly, still eyeing the rarely-seen box of tissues. “When’s the last time you had your period?”

“Ugh, Dad!” Alice protested in disgust, flouncing off. “Mom! Did you hear what he said?!” Luke followed her, amused by anything that irritated his sister.

“Well, if I _am_ pregnant, we know _you’re_ not the father,” Eli shot back once he’d reached the bottom of the stairs. He handed the five tissues he’d sullied on the way down to a servant hovering nearby.

“You’re funny,” Cal told him, leading the way to the garage. “You seem awfully sharp-witted for an ill man.”

Eli was about to retort when he suddenly paused at the entrance to the garage, taking a deep breath. Cal watched him from one step down into the cool, dim room, curious and the smallest bit concerned. Eli took another sharp breath, muscles tense. “Eli?” Cal finally prompted.

The other man suddenly exhaled, his expression frustrated and pained. He wrinkled his nose like he’d smelled something horrible, then plucked another tissue from the box. “I thought I was going to sneeze, and then it just _stopped_ ,” he complained bitterly, wiping his nose. “It kind of— _hurts_. On top of everything else.”

“That expression you made was _so_ interesting,” Cal commented, still staring at him as if trying to fix it in his mind. “I wish I’d had a camera.”

Eli would have rolled his eyes at Cal’s inappropriate clinical interest, but they were watering again. He settled for dabbing at them, snuffling loudly, and declaring, “This s—ks!” before climbing into the passenger seat of the car Cal had chosen.

“Were you watching a movie in which puppies were killed?” Cal questioned unhelpfully.

“They said it was physical, not emotional,” Eli reminded him.

“Oh, right.” Cal shut the passenger door and walked around to the driver’s side. “You didn’t fall or anything while you were on unprotected land, did you?”

“No.” Both men continued to think about it as Cal drove them toward the gate and onto the main road. “I didn’t sleep very well last night,” Eli added slowly. “Maybe it was too hot. I opened the windows and turned off the air conditioner.”

“Well, my grandmother always slept with all the windows shut, because she thought the night air was bad for you,” Cal replied. “Then again, she had come from a swampy part of Florida, so it probably _was_ full of insects and germs.”

“S—t,” Eli said suddenly, after a pause.

Cal glanced between him and the road with some alarm. “What? Eli? _What_?”

The younger man sighed. “It’s just—we left everyone alone in the house,” he told Cal. “And those guys will be there soon.”

“Boy, you are really on the ball today,” Cal commented dryly, relieved it wasn’t anything worse, like a new mysterious symptom. “That was ten minutes ago. Really, it was. More or less. And—you know what—it’s called _protected land_ for a reason. That means they can’t get hurt on it. The servants will look after them. Anything else you’d like to be paranoid about while we’re at it? Am I driving too fast?”

Eli had started chuckling, weakly, in the middle of the rant and finally burst into a kind of choking, nasally laughter by the end. “ _Me_? _Paranoid_? Me? Seriously?”

“Besides, I told Luke to keep an eye on things anyway,” Cal added as they passed the first buildings of the town proper, and Eli chortled as best he could, though it was interspersed with sniffles and winces. “Do you feel any better yet?”

“I don’t think so,” Eli sighed, “but I appreciate the effort.”

“Well, we’re here, anyway.” Cal pulled the car around the circle drive to the front doors of the clinic. “Come on.” He helped Eli out of the car and tossed the keys to an orderly dressed in green who opened the clinic doors for them—this was also protected land, with servants of its own.

Just barely open for business, the clinic was still ordering supplies and hiring employees, and Dr. White Stag met them before they got any further into the lobby. “Gentlemen,” he greeted with a slight bow. “Why don’t you come this way?”

“Bit of a maze, isn’t it?” Cal observed as they headed through a door that led to a confusing array of offices, exam rooms, and other hallways.

“That’s the way American clinics seem to be built,” the doctor shrugged. “We’re planning on something more organic for later stages, but for right now we wanted to keep it familiar. Familiarly disorienting,” he added dryly. “Have a seat up here,” he instructed Eli as they entered a small room. “Tell me your symptoms again.”

The younger man squirmed up onto the paper-covered table and described how he felt while Cal hovered, making sure nothing was left out. “Tell him about the sneeze that _stopped_ ,” he interjected. “Is that _normal_?”

Dr. White Stag smiled a little. “I thought you’d lived outside the Valley before, Lord Cal.”

“Well I didn’t hang about people who _sneezed_ ,” Cal assured him. “What’s wrong with him, then?”

“Well—I believe it’s allergies,” the doctor diagnosed thoughtfully, scribbling on his notepad.

“Allergies?” Eli repeated in confusion.

Cal seemed more alarmed. “I knew this professor once who had _allergies_ —she got one whiff of peanut and her throat would close up!”

Eli was equally agitated once he heard this. “But I haven’t even _eaten_ any peanuts!”

Dr. White Stag was shaking his head. “An _allergy_ is just an overreaction by the immune system to a substance that’s intrinsically harmless,” he tried to explain.

“There’s something wrong with his _immune system_?” Cal interrupted. This was not getting better.

“It’s very common,” the doctor assured them. He should’ve known his colleague at the clinic would be difficult to deal with on medical matters, he supposed. “There’s all kinds of things that can trigger an immune response even though they aren’t themselves dangerous—certain foods, animal dander, strong smells even. In Mr. Eli’s case I’m guessing it’s pollen from the local vegetation. I’ve seen several cases of this here.”

“You’re _guessing_?” Cal repeated, displeased.

Dr. White Stag practiced the calm and patient look he had been using for many years now. “Do you agree?” he asked calmly, turning to look over his shoulder at a bland, green-clad orderly who _might_ have been in the room the whole time, quiet and unnoticed.

“Allergic reaction,” the man confirmed. “Trigger: tree pollen. Non-fatal.”

The doctor resisted any urge he felt to indicate ‘I told you so’ to his patients. “The body’s reaction to the trigger is what actually causes the trouble, not the trigger itself,” he went on. “Some reactions can be quite severe, especially those involving food products or insects. In many instances they can be fatal, in fact. But fortunately,” he added lightly, “pollen allergies tend to be milder.”

“You call this _mild_?” Cal retorted indignantly, gesturing vaguely towards his sniffling husband.

“Well, it’s milder than _death_ ,” Eli pointed out. Not that anyone was paying attention to him.

“Well what can you _do_ about it?” Cal insisted, somehow implying that this was all the doctor’s fault.

Not that White Stag expected anything less. “Unfortunately, it’s impossible to say at the moment if these allergic reactions are merely temporary adjustment issues, or if they’re chronic conditions,” he prefaced. Cal tapped his food impatiently. “One option is to do nothing and see if he gets better in a few days. Another thing we could try,” he went on quickly, before Cal could tell him exactly what he thought about the first option, “is a medicine that reduces the symptoms of the body’s immune response. He could try it for a few days, then stop and see how he feels.”

“What if he doesn’t feel better?” Cal questioned.

“Many people take various kinds of allergy medication on a seasonal basis,” the doctor admitted, “or even year-round.” This was not what Cal wanted to hear.

“Fine, we’ll take the medicine,” he decided, with ill grace.

“According to American medical laws Mr. Eli is a competent adult, so I’ll need his personal consent,” Dr. White Stag reminded them. Nonetheless he started writing out the order.

“Really?” Eli asked with interest. “That’s novel. I could say no?”

“You could,” Dr. White Stag agreed encouragingly. He held his note back from Cal, who glared at Eli for being difficult.

“I consent,” Eli said quickly, and Cal snatched the note from the doctor.

“There’s a pharmacy on Elm Street just past the grocery store that we’re contracting with until we get our own set up,” Dr. White Stag went on. “Just give them this and they’ll fill it for you. Don’t take any until you get home, though, so your servants can make sure the order is right. Come back immediately if anything else happens.”

“Right. Fine. Come on,” Cal replied, tugging Eli off the table.

“Thanks, Doc,” Eli told Dr. White Stag, when it was obvious Cal wasn’t going to.

“You’re welcome,” the doctor told him. “And you may want to stock up on tissues, just in case.”

Cal grabbed Eli’s hand and pulled him back through the maze to the lobby. “You could say _thanks_ , you know,” the younger man suggested to his husband. “It’s not his fault I’m sick.”

“You’re not sick, you’re _defective_ ,” Cal corrected in that loving way of his. Eli rolled his eyes but gave the clasped hands more weight as a measure of Cal’s feelings. “I’ll thank him if ingesting these chemicals actually makes you better.”

“How come you’re more worried _now_ , when we know what it _is_?” Eli questioned dryly as they waited in the foyer for the car to be brought around. He noted Cal had not yet dropped his hand. “Isn’t the _unknown_ supposed to be scarier?”

“The unknown is only scarier to people who have too much imagination,” Cal judged loftily.

“Yeah, good thing _you_ never distort reality in any way,” Eli replied sarcastically.

Cal didn’t answer, as he was pulling out his cell phone and dialing. He pointed unnecessarily at the interior of the car when the orderly opened Eli’s door for him—like Eli _wasn’t_ going to get in, or couldn’t figure out that he should—and walked around to the driver’s side. “Gillian,” he told the servant at home who answered the phone. “Yeah. He’s got some kind of immune deficiency,” he relayed to her. “If he inhales any more pollen his throat will close up.”

“That’s _not_ what the doctor said!” Eli responded, hopefully loud enough that Gillian could hear. “Were you not listening at all?!”

“Yeah, I have to score some dope for him somewhere or he’s going to die,” Cal went on into the phone, navigating down to the pharmacy.

“I’m not gonna die!” Eli insisted. “Gillian! Can you hear me?”

Cal moved the phone away from his mouth slightly. “Gillian says to shut up, she can’t hear my report,” he told Eli, which was probably a complete fabrication. Much like Cal’s report. He went back to the conversation with her while Eli slumped back into his seat, tired out from the effort of going to the doctor. “Have Ria do some research on _allergies_ for me,” he instructed. “Especially pollen-related. Yes, like flower pollen. Or tree pollen. Can you believe, Dr. White Stag said he needed _Eli’s_ consent to give him medicine? Well, yes, I suppose he _did_ tell us that at Meeting, but still.” Eli smirked as Cal’s complaint was neutered by Gillian. “Yeah, I can’t pronounce it, I’ll spell it.” He started to glance at the piece of paper the doctor had given him.

“You’re not really supposed to talk on the phone and drive at the same time!” Eli reminded him. “Here, give it to me, I’ll do it.” Cal handed over the phone. “Hi, Gillian, I’m not going to die,” he assured her immediately. “The doctor said it was very common and might just go away in a few days.” He spelled the name of the recommended medicine to her, so Cal would stop poking him with the paper.

“Tell her to tell Ria to look it up,” the older man insisted, pulling into a parking spot in front of the pharmacy.

“Yeah, I think she understands that,” Eli assured him. “No, we’re at the pharmacy now,” he added to Gillian.

Cal took the paper back. “I’ll go get this,” he decided. “You want to wait here? Okay. Stay on the line with Gillian, so someone will know if you keel over dead.”

“Thanks. Get some more tissues!” Eli reminded him. “Yeah, he’s a little freaked,” he told Gillian as soon as the car door was shut with Cal on the other side of it. “He _held my hand_ and everything. It really doesn’t sound that bad. I know, I know,” he agreed with her. “I think it’s nice, if a little overprotective. True. He’s watching me through the window right now. He must be waiting for something.” Eli waved at Cal, who tilted his head a little but didn’t wave back.

He decided to switch topics. “How are things there? Did the workmen arrive yet?” He tried to concentrate on what his wife was saying, though this was somewhat difficult as his head continued to pound. “They _did_? I thought that wasn’t coming until next week. Are the rooms even done? I didn’t think so. I guess there’s room to store it, though.” He chuckled. “Is he? Yeah, Cal told him to. He didn’t like leaving you guys alone there. Well, you know how he is,” Eli added ironically, since Gillian had said the same thing to _him_ about Cal. “Oh, he’s coming back. J---s, he’s got, like, five bags full of stuff.”

Cal yanked the back door open and tossed the plastic sacks onto the seat, then rooted around in them and dug something out before climbing behind the wheel again. “Here.” He handed Eli a fresh box of tissues, to replace the nearly empty one in his lap. The floor around Eli’s feet was littered with crumpled tissues—he hadn’t realized he’d used so many. “They’ve got _lotion_ in them so they’re softer on your nose.”

“Did you hear that?” Eli asked Gillian, ripping into the box. “He got me special—“ He pulled out the first one and rubbed it. “— _greasy_ tissues. Thanks. Isn’t that—Oh, thank you,” he added as something else was shoved in his face. “He got me a stuffed monkey. It’s red with little white hearts all over it,” Eli described to Gillian as seriously as he could. “It says ‘Monkey Love’ on its tummy. Isn’t that adorable?” he added flatly. “You’re right, it _does_ sound kind of dirty,” he agreed with a smirk. Cal made a noise of protest as he pointed the car back out of town. Eli’s voice dropped slightly. “That _is_ a good idea. Are you alone right now? Oh _really_ …”

Cal snatched the phone out of the other man’s hand. “That’s _quite_ enough of _that_ ,” he declared. “These allergy things are contagious, by the way,” he told Gillian, “so he’ll have to be quarantined as soon as we get home.” Eli squawked beside him. “No, I do _not_ ,” Cal insisted. “It’s only contagious to, er, women and children,” he hustled, no doubt in response to Gillian’s suggestion that _Cal_ would have to be quarantined as well. “I certainly am _not_. It’s very rude to call your husband a liar. Yeah, we’ll be home in about five minutes. Love you. Bye.” He folded up the phone and tucked it into his pocket. Then he reached over and jabbed Eli in the shoulder.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, sitting up straighter.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Cal ordered. “We’re almost home.”

“You _did_ get my medicine, didn’t you?” Eli asked grumpily.

“Of course. But you can’t have any if you fall asleep.”

“I don’t think I _could_ fall asleep,” Eli sighed, closing his eyes anyway. “I can’t _breathe_.”

Cal did a double-take. “Is your throat closing up?”

“No, no,” Eli assured him quickly. “I just mean, I can’t breathe through my nose.”

“Oh.”

“So if I tried to sleep I would have to leave my mouth open, and then I would drool all over myself,” he went on colorfully.

“Hmm. Have you had allergies for a while, then?”

“Ha ha.”

“Alright, here we are,” Cal announced a moment later, pulling through the gate blocking the driveway. He stopped the car just inside it and rolled down the window to the servant who appeared outside the car. “You get copies of his medical records?”

“Yes, milord,” the man replied. “The clinic faxed them here earlier.”

“Good. So did he get what the doctor said to get?”

The servant stared at the pile of bags in the backseat. “Yes, milord. The medication is correct.”

“Good. Let’s get one in you, then.” Cal unbuckled his seatbelt and squirmed around until he was kneeling on the seat, contorting himself so he could reach the backseat.

“You _could_ just get out, you know,” Eli advised. “Or have a servant get it. Or not have put it in the back to begin with.”

“How helpful you are,” Cal remarked flatly, finally snagging the bag he wanted. “It’s _so_ delightful.”

“Thank you, love monkey.”

“Take this.” Cal thrust a bottle of water in Eli’s face.

“Thanks. Maybe _I_ should—“

“No, I’ve got it,” Cal insisted, and proceeded to rip the paper bag from the pharmacy into pieces trying to get it open.

“D—n that single, tiny staple, huh?” Eli commented, watching Cal continue to wrestle with the cardboard box holding the pills. “What, is it sealed with superglue?”

Cal ripped the box in half along one side. “They should hire me to test these things before they sell them,” he decided. “I would be able to detect a lot of flaws in their design before they were inflicted on an unsuspecting public.”

“Oh, oh, look. I see. The cardboard _folds_ ,” Eli pointed out with fake delight, taking the box from Cal. “There’s a _flap_ that _tucks_ in. How devilishly clever of them.”

“I’m being very tolerant of you today, because you’re _sick_ ,” Cal declared generously. “But if you don’t start acting more stupidly, I’ll think you’re just faking it.”

“Believe me, opening this box is a major act of concentration and coordination for me right now,” Eli assured him. Finally he popped one of the small green tablets out of the packaging. “Well. Here I go.” He swallowed the pill with a swig of water. There was a long moment of silence and Eli finally realized Cal was just sitting there, staring at him. “I don’t think it’s gonna work _instantly_ ,” he pointed out. “I don’t think flames are gonna shoot out of my nose or anything.”

Cal seemed disappointed by the lack of reaction. “Oh. I suppose you’re right. Oh, you’re supposed to eat something with that,” he remembered suddenly. “Um…” He glanced into the backseat as though trying to remember if he’d bought anything edible.

“We’re, like, sixty seconds from the house, if you would just _drive forward_ ,” Eli reminded him.

“Ah-ha.” Cal triumphantly pulled a squashed muffin from his pocket, the one Alice had given him earlier, and held it out to Eli expectantly.

Eli looked between the muffin and his husband. “Seriously?” he finally asked.

“Eat it,” Cal directed firmly. “The person at the pharmacy said you were supposed to take these with food.” Eli sighed and took the unappetizing muffin, stuffing a pinch into his mouth as it looked like Cal wasn’t going anywhere until he did. Satisfied, Cal settled back behind the wheel and continued driving up to the house.

Gillian was there to meet them and give Eli the hug she’d been prevented from bestowing earlier in the morning. “Are you feeling any better, sweetie? Do you want some more tea? Here, let me help you up to bed. You should try to get some rest.”

Eli went along with her easily. “Did you see my monkey?” he asked, waggling the stuffed animal before her.

“Very cute,” she responded, guiding him towards the stairs.

Cal watched them go for a moment, then began rummaging in the bags a servant had brought him from the car. “Keep an eye on him,” he instructed the bland, waiting man, which was an unnecessary command, really, but Cal felt better having issued it.

“Yes, milord.”

“Is he gonna be okay?” Ria asked, joining Cal in the foyer.

“Probably,” he told her, unreassuringly. “Here, I got this for you.” He handed her a magazine from one of the bags.

“ _Cosmopolitan_ ,” she read dubiously. “Uh, thanks.” Ria was not noted for her interest in fashion magazines.

“The cover reminded me of you,” Cal told her absently, dumping items he’d purchased on the floor as he pawed through the bags.

“Well, the model is blond, white, and could use a few good meals,” Ria observed, “but thanks, I guess. What are you doing? Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for the thing I got Gillian,” he replied, turning one bag upside-down. “It was rather small—ah, here it is.” Ria rolled her eyes—of course, it was a little velvet-covered box. Gillian got a piece of jewelry, _she_ got a trashy magazine. “Get this stuff put away, would you, love?” he suggested, stepping over the mess of tissue boxes, candy bags, greeting cards, paperback novels, and bottled drinks he’d created. Sometimes Ria thought he just grabbed things randomly from the shelves and bought them—at least, that was what it looked like to her. “Did you do that research for me yet?”

“Working on it,” she assured him, scooping up the tissue boxes before a hovering servant could. “Take these to Eli’s room. Oh, and put one in my bathroom.” That would replace the one he’d taken with him that morning. “Cal?” She sighed as it appeared he’d already wandered off.

“It wasn’t the cover model,” he called back from around the corner somewhere. “It was a cover _story_.”

Frowning, Ria turned the magazine over and scanned the bold titles on it, most of which sounded utterly pointless. Twenty-seven great styles for short hair? Latest fashion forecast? Best new martini recipes? She stopped when she saw the title in the bottom corner, however—stared, flushed, then smirked. “Ten New Sex Tricks to Drive Him Wild”? That seemed like something Cal would have in mind. Maybe there would be a quiz later.


End file.
